


Breaking Rules

by lovethybooty



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College AU, F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovethybooty/pseuds/lovethybooty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Annie Cresta broke rules when drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Rules

**Author's Note:**

> “She was breaking her rules. They weren't stone after all, only small and fragile as paper cranes.... I understood why she held to them so hard. Once you break the first one, they all broke, one by one, like firecrackers exploding in your face in a parking lot on the Fourth of July.”  
> ― Janet Fitch, White Oleander

Mamá always warned her not to eat or drink anything given to her by a stranger. And, for the majority of her newly-adult life, she'd adhered to this rule.  

But every rule has an exception and a loophole. Nobody would ever roofie a sugar cube, _right_?

Annie sits alone on the porch of the frat house, feet dangling over the side of the raised platform, just barely scraping the grass below her. The party, she's decided, is too much. The music is too loud, the overwhelmingly smell of booze headache inducing. These college kids are, apparently, not very good at beer pong.

But the fresh air is slowly sobering her, and the world looks a little less fuzzy by the minute.  

And, as if right on cue, weight on the old porch shifts as a drunk frat boy plops down next to her. He hits the wood with a slight thud. Annie sighs but smiles, turning to look at him.

He's handsome- probably even more so when **not** inebriated- with a lopsided, goofy grin. Messy bronze locks peek through his snapback, and he dons a muscle tank in the middle of November.

“Want one?” he mutters.

She raises an eyebrow quizzically, clearly confused, “What?”

“Do you want one?” he asks again, hand diving into his pocket and digging around before emerging again, pulling out something small and white. Dear God, _s_ he can only _pray_ he's not offering her crack. “A sugar cube, I mean.”

Her sigh is one of relief. Well, at least it in’t drugs. At least, she hopes not. But she's still tipsy and probably not in her best decision-making mind, so she agrees. Lithe fingers pluck one from his palm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, popping it into her mouth. She's never been given a straight up sugar cube, but it tastes just like you'd expect. Sugary. Nasty. Entirely too _sweet_ for her tastes. She bears a grimace, chews it up and swallows it quickly. Mamá also taught her to be polite.

The bronze haired boy only laughs in response. “Not a fan, huh?”

Head shakes, “No, not really. I’m Annie, by the way.” She thrusts out a hand, smiling as he willingly returns the gesture.

“Finnick,” he nods. “And, yeah. It’s an acquired taste, I guess.”  The boy- Finnick- laughs again, booming and loud.

The two sit on the porch for the remainder of the evening while the party rages on inside, the house's very foundations bouncing with the vibrations of loud house music. It's a surprise to _everyone_ that the cops weren’t called.  

They talk about anything and everything. Favorite colors and ice cream flavors and movies and superheroes. And they talk about their homes- their real ones, that is. She grew up kind of sheltered, taken care of by her abuela after her mother passed away. He grew up in foster care, abandoned at only two. Neither had quite the picture perfect homes they'd imagined the other would have.

And yeah, no one would ever roofie a sugar cube, but she still winds up in his bed the next morning.

In one evening, Annie managed to break two major rules of her life. One, her mother’s- constantly ringing in the back of her mind. And the other- her own. No hookups at frat houses. No hookups with frat boys. No hookups period.

This is different, though. Because, upon waking to the sound of content snores, she knows this won't be last time she'll see Finnick Odair. That peculiar frat boy, all startling green eyes and a sweet tooth not even a candy store could cure.


End file.
